[Even though Xingchen didn't know who he was when he picked him up off the side of the road and nursed him back to health, it would have been awful had this younger man died. And now that they are friends and go night-hunting together, it brings Xingchen comfort that he can take care of himself well enough.
And then there's a touch, light and gentle, and Xingchen slouches just a little, relaxing. Touch. Such a simple thing, a sensation that is taken for granted so often - Xingchen is guilty of it, too - but one he realizes now he's craved during his time in this strange land. Others here may tug him along from time to time, but that's out of necessity. He's been approached by their group's pet dog and cat before, and while petting or holding the warm creatures has delighted him, they can't exactly pet back in a way he desires. He can't even pull comfort from the others here that hail from his own world - or some version of it, as discovered while talking with Wei Wuxian - because they aren't close.
...Song Lan drew back from touch. Xingchen learned quickly not to impose himself on his friend, except for the time he supported him as they trudged up Baoshan Sanren's mountain.
But his friend here, one who is a little crude around the edges and with a sense of humor that shouldn't always make Xingchen laugh, but still does, touches him. So Xingchen sits still and lets the light weight of those fingers rest on his wrist, practically absorbing it. He's missed this. He's missed him.
Even when he continues speaking and implies things, Xingchen just laughs quietly again, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks. Finally, he moves, turning his hand over so he can trail his fingertips along the pads of his companion's as he pulls away. He lifts his hand to his friend's face, tentatively landing on his cheek, but once he gets his bearings, he taps his index finger against the jut of a nose. He can't quite force himself to speak at full volume.]
no subject
[Even though Xingchen didn't know who he was when he picked him up off the side of the road and nursed him back to health, it would have been awful had this younger man died. And now that they are friends and go night-hunting together, it brings Xingchen comfort that he can take care of himself well enough.
And then there's a touch, light and gentle, and Xingchen slouches just a little, relaxing. Touch. Such a simple thing, a sensation that is taken for granted so often - Xingchen is guilty of it, too - but one he realizes now he's craved during his time in this strange land. Others here may tug him along from time to time, but that's out of necessity. He's been approached by their group's pet dog and cat before, and while petting or holding the warm creatures has delighted him, they can't exactly pet back in a way he desires. He can't even pull comfort from the others here that hail from his own world - or some version of it, as discovered while talking with Wei Wuxian - because they aren't close.
...Song Lan drew back from touch. Xingchen learned quickly not to impose himself on his friend, except for the time he supported him as they trudged up Baoshan Sanren's mountain.
But his friend here, one who is a little crude around the edges and with a sense of humor that shouldn't always make Xingchen laugh, but still does, touches him. So Xingchen sits still and lets the light weight of those fingers rest on his wrist, practically absorbing it. He's missed this. He's missed him.
Even when he continues speaking and implies things, Xingchen just laughs quietly again, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks. Finally, he moves, turning his hand over so he can trail his fingertips along the pads of his companion's as he pulls away. He lifts his hand to his friend's face, tentatively landing on his cheek, but once he gets his bearings, he taps his index finger against the jut of a nose. He can't quite force himself to speak at full volume.]
Silly.